After Death Only the Living Remain
by openPandora'sBox
Summary: Episode tag for 'The Last Man': The aftermath for those left alive after Sheppard's dissapearance and Teyla's death. A series of missing scenes for an episode I thought I had way more dramatic and story-telling potential.
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: I don't own SGA or the characters.

A/N: Don't ask me where this little Ronon/Keller leaning fic came from. But it was a plot bunny that just wouldn't leave me be, so I wrote it down.

Hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think.

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Rodney stood silently by the infirmary bed, eyes fixed straight ahead, tracing unseen patterns on the wall across the room. His ears were still buzzing from gunfire and explosions, but they could still discern the rhythmic beep, beep, beep of a heart monitor and the steady drip, drip, drip of an IV line. His hands clutched the bed railings, knuckles white, his sweaty palms making it difficult to maintain a sure grip. He wouldn't let go.

He couldn't look down. Down meant ineptitude, incompetence, failure. Down meant acknowledging that the beeping and the dripping were for someone else's benefit. Down meant facing a hideous reality – a reality veiled by neat, little sutures and a thin cotton sheet.

Rodney's stomach rebelled at the mere thought. He could taste the bile that had risen with sickening force up into his mouth, wanted to spit it out but swallowed it back instead. It burned the whole way down.

His heart burned, seethed with anger at what the vile bastard had done to her. But it wasn't just to her, was it? Her child, her son, had been ripped from her womb, from his cocoon of warmth and safety to be used, experimented, and eventually killed when Michael no longer had a use for him. Like he had done to Teyla. Discarded her like so much waste once her purpose had been fulfilled. Left her bleeding and broken, ripped open, dead.

"Oh God." The words fell from his lips, a desperate plea to a deity Rodney had never believed existed. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. He wanted, most of all, to be able to think again. To form coherent thoughts, long thought processes, plans – devise some way to track Michael through light years of space and find Teyla's son. Save him like they couldn't save her.

But he was so tired, so weary and exhausted. His bones ached and his muscles screamed in agony every time he shifted. He hadn't slept properly in days, only catching short naps when the numbers racing across his screens became too hypnotic. Nobody had gotten much sleep since Sheppard had disappeared. They'd made it their mission to find him then, and they'd failed at that too.

Rodney let his head fall forwards, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he did so. He couldn't look down, couldn't look at her. Despite the sheet covering her face, he would see her and he couldn't face her. Not even in death. Not while her son still lived. Not while they failed him too.

* * *

Jennifer walked slowly towards the infirmary bed pushed up against wall, her feet barely making a sound on the slick floors. She'd found Rodney by Teyla's bed when she'd come in. Had walked to him as quietly as she could and pulled the privacy curtain around him. He hadn't noticed. She didn't think she would have either.

She'd spent the better part of the night tending to several Athosian children who'd fallen ill with flu-like symptoms. They'd refused to come to the infirmary, had cried themselves hoarse at the mere mention of the place – of the needles, the instruments, the equipment. Not that she could blame them, not after what they'd been forced to endure.

She had gone to the wing Major Lorne had assigned for the Athosians' use. Hours had passed before she'd even been allowed to touch some of the more fearful children. Forget thermometers and scanners, she'd gone the old-fashioned route – a soft caress to the forehead to judge temperature, a wooden tongue-depressor to check for redness in the throat, and gentle prodding at the sides of the neck to detect any swollen glands. She'd left them with prescriptions of bed-rest, fluids, and the lollipops she'd carried with her all those months ago.

Now she stood in a packed infirmary, reading the chart of one of her more obstinate patients, when she heard a rustling coming from the bed against the wall.

"Oh no, no," Jennifer whispered harshly, careful not to wake any of her sleeping patients. She futilely pushed against a rock-hard shoulder. "You have a concussion, three cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, not to mention all your other bumps and bruises. You are not going anywhere. Not tonight."

Ronon stared up into the red-rimmed, brown eyes of a clearly exhausted doctor. Neither of them were fooled. If he'd wanted up and out of the bed, there would have been nothing she could have done to stop him. As it was, he figured she needed the peace more than he needed his escape.

He let himself fall back against the bed, wincing inwardly at the twinge of pain in his side, the slight tilt of the room making him dizzier than he'd admit. But it was infinitely preferable to feel pain than to feel nothing. Pain he understood. Pain he could fight. And Ronon desperately needed something to fight.

He'd promised Teyla safety. He'd promised her that he'd be there when she found Kanaan – that they were a team, always together. He'd promised, if not aloud then it had certainly been implied, to protect her and her unborn child. He'd broken that promise and most of him knew only one way to deal with that pain – fighting, violence. He wanted to get his hands on that abomination they'd created, wrap his hands around its neck, and squeeze. He wanted to watch the life drain from its eyes, feel its muscles go slack and the lifeless twitch of its death throes. He wanted Michael and he wanted him dead – slowly, painfully, and with every little indignity the bastard had suffered upon Teyla in her final days.

Soft skin and a gentle caress pulled him out of his vicious thoughts. He opened eyes he hadn't realized had drifted shut. Calmed a heart he hadn't noticed had sped up and inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly - like she'd taught him. The thought sobered and wearied him.

"I have to go." He said it softly, almost apologetically. His deep voice rougher, more hoarse, than usual from her chemically induced sleep. Jennifer lifted a cup of water from his bedside table, ignoring the tightness in her stomach at his words, and brought it to his mouth. Deep, dark eyes she'd once described as soulful captured hers, trapped her in their depths, and refused to let go.

He obliged her and drank from the cup. She set it back down on the table when he was finished and obliged him by sitting on the edge of his bed - one leg hitched up, the other planted solidly on the ground to keep her balance. Jennifer gazed back at him, a plea in her eyes. She knew what he was going to say. She didn't want him to say it.

"I have to go," he repeated, insistent this time.

She wanted to look away, wanted to run away. She wanted to pretend she'd misunderstood. Most of all, she wanted this nightmare to just end – Sheppard needed to come back and Teyla needed to be sitting in that infirmary bed with a baby in her arms. But the fact of the matter was, it was all too real. She'd never been that good at pretending anyway.

"No, you don't." Her words were almost inaudible, but he heard her and squeezed her hand tightly. Ronon tightened his grip when she weakly tried to pull it away.

"Atlantis is still your home, you know. The rest of us aren't going anywhere," Jennifer continued softly.

"Jenn." He wondered when the light had left her eyes, when her skin had gotten so pale and tired. "The IOA only tolerated me because of Sheppard. With him gone," Ronon drew in a breath, steeled himself against the rise of anger, "With him gone, I'm on a short leash. The IOA will tolerate me about as far as they can throw me."

"Carter-"

"Carter can only do what the IOA let her do," Ronon gently interrupted. "We're past niceties now. We're done with negotiations and deals, clever alliances and space battles. Michael doesn't play by the IOA's rules. The IOA won't hear it, but we have to play by his. I have to."

Jennifer determinedly wiggled her hand out of his grasp. She never broke eye contact, but at the loss of her hand he felt her move miles away.

"And what do you plan to do out there all alone? Challenge Michael to a duel at sunset," she snapped, but her voice lacked venom. "Your single gun and sword against his legions of genetically modified Wraith-hybrid soldiers?"

"It's my galaxy, Jenn." His tone was beginning to border on dangerous. "My people dead and dieing out there," he responded angrily, his voice rising slightly. "You have a world to go back to when the IOA decides Pegasus just isn't worth it anymore. One the Wraith will never find. You'll find a new job, a new home, a lover." Jennifer cast her eyes upwards, trying to stave off the tears threatening to fall. She wanted to beg him to stop, but the gentleness in his voice as he finished destroyed the words before they could reach her lips. "You'll make a new life for yourself and you'll try to forget any of this ever happened. One day, you'll succeed and all of this will have been nothing but a bad dream."

Eyes filled with tears, Jennifer furiously blinked them back before she brought her eyes back to meet with his.

"You think I could forget this?" Forget you?

"I think you should."

Her heart threatened to break, to spill into a million pieces. She held it together through sheer force of will.

Jennifer thought back to her first day on Atlantis, remembered the rush of adrenaline and of fear when she'd crossed the event horizon for the first time. She recalled her training with Dr. Becket – all the new equipment she'd been fascinated to learn about. Then had come the shock of taking command when Carson had so suddenly died, the terror of being hunted by cannibalistic barbarians through dense forests, the elation when they'd cheated death for the millionth time. She thought back to that fateful day when herself and Ronon had been forced together by a city run away from it's programming. He was asking her to forget the best year of her life. She couldn't do that.

Ronon read the defiance in her eyes, saw the strength, and understood the anger. Anger would keep her going when all hope seemed lost. Anger was good - even if it was aimed at him. At least he could do that one last thing for her.

Jennifer slowly stood and brushed the wrinkles out of her lab coat. Clearing her throat, she swiped at her eyes and stepped back from the Ronon's bed before allowing a small, sad smile to quiver onto her lips.

"You should be resting," she said softly, carefully. "I shouldn't have kept you up this long."

Ronon watched her silently as she turned away slowly, every step deliberate, every step taking her further and further away from him. That had been the entire point, hadn't it? To save her. To save Rodney. To save those left alive. He wouldn't be among them. He knew that and accepted it – had swallowed that bitter pill a long time ago.

But it hurt. It still managed to hurt, knowing what he was giving up – what he would always have to give up. He'd made a promise long ago to long-dead friends and to a long-dead wife, to never rest until every last Wraith met the blade of his sword or felt the burn of his gun. He intended to keep that promise and to mend the one's he'd broken. He'd find Michael, whatever it took. He would kill Michael, regardless of the cost. He was prepared to pay with his life. He probably would.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's another chapter to the story I'd thought would have no more chapters. I decided, however, that I didn't like what was shown in "The Last Man". So here's another "missing scene"

Again, it's angsty, but I think the material calls for it.

Please read and review. Any and all comments and criticisms are appreciated.

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"How is she?"

The nurse finished adjusting the IV line before turning towards the sound of the voice. Gentle fingers, nimble from years of practice and repetition, firmly applied a piece of medical tape to the patient's forearm, securing the IV in place. Raising tired eyes to meet apprehensive ones, she shook her head sadly. She didn't say anything – didn't need to. Her resigned and defeated expression only confirmed what Rodney had already suspected.

Finished with that particular patient, the nurse spared Rodney a small smile of support before moving on to the next bed, the next patient, and the next crisis. It went unnoticed. Rodney's blue-eyed gaze was fixed on the figure lying prone and motionless on the bed, an oxygen mask obscuring her delicate features. After countless hours spent gasping for breath that would not come, she had finally drifted off into a restless slumber.

Moving as quietly as possible, Rodney approached the bed from the opposite side, his right hand involuntarily clenching around the rectangular object he held in his grasp. His free hand came to rest on the bed inches away from her smaller, paler one. Finding himself unable to bring his gaze up to her face, he focused intently on that hand.

She'd lost weight. She'd lost too much weight since the illness had struck, and she had been small and slim to begin with. The veins in her hand now stood in startling contrast to the pallor of her skin. They were all too prominent – bulging against the paper-thin skin.

Rodney's gaze shifted to her chest, labouriously moving up and down as she struggled to fill damaged lungs with precious oxygen. Even in sleep she found no peace. Each breath hard fought, hard won. Every ounce of air sucked down was a small victory in its own right, granting her a few more precious minutes of life in which to hope for a cure. Maybe even a miracle.

Rodney didn't believe in miracles. A miracle would have come in handy months ago. A miracle would have been nice in keeping Sheppard around. A miracle would have been appreciated when they'd gone in search of Teyla. A miracle would have been damn useful in catching Michael, in stopping this entire nightmare before it had even begun. No, Rodney didn't believe in miracles. Certainly, not anymore than he believed in a mystical, omnipotent being responsible for all existence yet incapable of grasping the simple concept of timing.

"Rodney?"

Startled, Rodney's head snapped up. He turned, almost embarrassed to have been caught standing there, to face the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"I just wanted to-" he trailed off. Why, Rodney thought to himself. Why was he even there?

Jennifer placed the clipboard back on the bed at her patient's feet. Inwardly, she winced and her stomach sank at the notations the nurse had made on the chart. Outwardly, she didn't think she had enough energy left to form any facial expressions.

They'd been on M7G-677 for three days now. Five days ago, Michael had devised a way to disrupt the EM field the Ancients had generated to protect the inhabitants of the planet, most of them children. Five days ago, Michael had stolen their ZPM and released the Hoffan drug on the unsuspecting population. When she, Rodney, and teams of doctors and Marines had arrived, it had been to find hundreds of people already dead or dieing. The predicted thirty percent mortality rate had been grossly underestimated. They had soon come to discover that a genetic anomaly passed down from generation to generation within the isolated population had made the majority of them more susceptible to the negative effects of Michael's drug.

And there was nothing she or any of her doctors could do. The elders refused to allow any of their people to be taken back to Atlantis for treatment and, truth be told, Jennifer wasn't even sure if it would have made a difference. Infected individuals either lived to kill the Wraith or they died slow, painful deaths. There was no middle ground. No room for treatment. Life or death.

"She's strong, Rodney. A fighter."

Rodney shifted his gaze away from Jennifer towards the girl lying motionless on the bed except for the stilted rise and fall of her chest. Her wisp thin, blonde hair lay matted against her head, dark with sweat and grease. Her face, once luminous with excitement, was now bright with fever. Eyes moved restlessly behind closed lids, tormented by dreams brought on by fever and pain.

"She's just a kid."

Kids were supposed to play, do stupid things, and break rules. Not lie in makeshift hospital beds hooked up to useless IV drips while their organs failed one by one and their bodies wasted away to nothing. She should have been out there, fraying his last nerve with her incessant questions and ramblings, while he'd attempted to jury-rig another EM field.

"I should be yelling at her to stop asking for chocolate, not holding vigil by her deathbed."

"Rodney-"

Rodney's head snapped towards her, blue eyes blazing. "That's what it is, Jennifer," he interrupted forcefully. "No amount of sugarcoating or false hope can change that reality. Michael made sure of that."

Jennifer's eyes widened slightly, surprised at his fervor. A soft groan interrupted her before she could formulate a response.

Another groan, louder than the one before it, drew their attention to the girl before them. Swollen eyes, bleary from sleep and dim with pain, stared unseeing back at them. Struggling to pull herself out of a medicated haze, her brow furrowed in confusion at unfamiliar surroundings, her breath growing increasingly laboured as panic overtook her and she weakly struggled to sit up.

"Shhhh," Jennifer whispered, moving to the side of the bed opposite Rodney and placing a gently restraining hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's alright. You're safe, but you need to stay calm." Jennifer's calm voice soothed the girl back to stillness. "Breathe slowly."

Eyes wide and fearful, they moved wildly from Jennifer to the other beds and patients, until they finally found purchase on Rodney, the one familiar figure in this nightmare she'd awoken to. She focused on his face, his sharp blue-eyes now wide with a panic of his own as she latched onto his hand with a grip far stronger than Rodney had expected.

The rattling in her chest, her gasping breaths grew more pronounced as she continued to stare at Rodney with pleading eyes.

He didn't know what to do. The part of him that usually took over in situations involving people – the part that usually told him to run – was oddly silent. He found himself unwilling to pull his hand out of her grasp, unwilling to turn his eyes away. Her death was as much his fault, all of their faults, as it was Michael's. He could at least do the honourable and right thing now.

Rodney scoffed inwardly at the thought. Much like that unseen deity with timing issues, it seemed he was much too late in doing the right thing.

A soft rustle pulled his attention towards the foot of the bed as Jennifer reached down for the med kit. She removed a small bottle and hypodermic needle, deftly filling the needle in several seconds. Moving swiftly to the IV hanging by the bed, she slowly injected the needle's contents into the line.

"What are you doing?"

"She's in pain. I'm upping her morphine," Jennifer replied, eyes never leaving the needle as she pushed the plunger down.

"She's-"

"I know, Rodney." Jennifer slowly lifted her eyes to meet Rodney's. She watched as realization dawned in his, to be slowly replaced by what she knew was already evident in hers – acceptance and revulsion.

They watched in silence as her eyes grew hazy once more and her eyelids fluttered closed again. They stood by, Rodney holding her hand, Jennifer smoothing sweat-soaked hair back from her face, as her chest rose and fell more slowly with each passing minute. Her muscles eased, lost the tension brought on by panic and fear. The creases on her brow smoothed out, restoring a look of peacefulness to her pale face.

"Cleya," Rodney whispered suddenly, another realization dawning on him. Jennifer shot him a quizzical look.

"Her name." Rodney looked down at the little girl he'd once made cry with his harsh words and grumpy demeanor. "I couldn't remember it before."

Her small hand became lax in his, but he didn't let go. He heard more rustling then felt another hand gently rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, but he didn't look up. He watched in stony silence as Cleya drew her last breath, exhaled for the last time on a sigh, her chest falling once more – never rising.

Rodney lifted his other hand from his side, the small object still clutched in his grasp. It was slightly malformed now, but it didn't matter. He set the gold foil-wrapped bar down on her lap. A gift he'd hoped to give her under different circumstances.

Chocolate for a little girl who'd never tasted anything so wonderful. Chocolate for the dead.

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	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: So here's another chapter. I tried something a little bit different in the middle of this one, so please let me know if it did or didn't work.

All reviews and critiques are welcome. Enjoy!

* * *

Jennifer stared blindly towards the eastern horizon. She'd settled herself down on the pier hours ago, when the sun had still been high over the water. Then, the deep blue of the ocean had sparkled – the sun's white, bright rays glistening off the peaks of millions of tiny waves like diamonds. Now, the vast expanse of water lay like molten lava before her – burnt crimson and gold. The sun setting while the first of the planet's two moons began its nightly journey across the sky and the stars blinked faintly in the fading light.

It wasn't quiet out there on the northern pier of Atlantis, not with the persistent hum of the city always in the background, and the waves crashing up against the solid walls at her feet. But the stillness soothed her turbulent thoughts and calmed her frantic mind. It was the only place left where she could be alone, where no one and nothing expected anything of her – at least for a little while. Eventually, reality always managed to catch up.

Jennifer heard footsteps approaching behind her, tentative and slightly shuffling. She knew who it was – the only other person who knew she came here.

She turned her head and lifted it up to face her visitor, squinting her eyes against the setting sun's final glare. She smiled brightly and patted the spot next to her, inviting the newcomer to join her. She didn't mind the company and it was her medical opinion that some relaxation would do him a world of good, even if it was just for a few moments. Rodney needed to relax more. They all did.

"Lorne and his team are back from M7G-435," Rodney started, ignoring the proffered seat.

Jennifer sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and turned her gaze back towards the view.

Rodney shifted uncomfortably and clasped his hands behind his back before continuing. "The population there was among the least affected by the drug. You need to take a look at those samples."

Jennifer watched, mesmerized, as a rogue wave crashed against the pier below her, sending droplets of water scattering across her bare feet dangling over the edge. She shook the water off, blew out a measured breath before lifting them back onto the pier and pushing herself to her feet.

She took her time rolling down her pant legs and brushing the wrinkles out of her uniform. Jennifer pulled her jacket back down from where it had begun to bunch up around her waist and turned with a shake of her head to face Rodney's disapproving frown.

"I never used to do this, you know," her soft voice broke through the silence between them. "I never had the time," Jennifer smiled sadly. "Nor the inclination. Now it seems like this is the only thing that makes sense anymore. The only thing that remains constant while everything else insists on changing."

Rodney's frowned deepened, the confusion evident on his face, but he remained silent and watched as she turned her back towards him to watch the sun finish its slow descent.

"It's not the same as on Earth, of course. Sun sets in the east. The planet has two orbiting moons," her voice trailed off when she heard Rodney grumble and shift impatiently behind her.

"You didn't have to come, Rodney," Jennifer declared softly. "If this bores you so much."

"Yes, of course," Rodney retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I could have just yelled very loudly and you, with your supersonic hearing, would have heard me all the way from the infirmary-"

"Which," he deftly interrupted her attempt to speak when she spun to face him once more. "By the way, is where you left your earpiece."

Jennifer cocked one delicate eyebrow, slowly placed her hands on her hips, and tilted her head to one side.

"I repeat," she replied slowly, her voice low. "_You_ didn't have to come, Rodney."

"If you hadn't abandoned your only form of long-distance communication-"

Jennifer raised both eyebrows as she watched Rodney's hands grow increasingly animated - a tiny smirk playing at her lips.

"And if you didn't always insist on coming out here to your secret, little clubhouse, maybe I wouldn't have-" Jennifer watched his eyes as her implication finally dawned on him – his face going slack, his hands stilling mid gesture – and bit back a laugh.

"Had to," Rodney finished lamely, hands falling at his sides.

Refusing to meet her laughing eyes, he looked past her, watching the sun finish its long descent and disappear under the distant curve of the planet's surface.

Jennifer's smirk melted into a smile. Her eyes, no longer bright with laughter, were bright with something else. Touched that Rodney would be considerate enough to keep her nightly ritual a secret, she moved a step closer to him, stopping when his unusually calm expression turned to one of consternation.

"Who is it?" Rodney demanded over the open channel.

Jennifer tensed, her smile fading, eyes growing wary. She assumed someone had dialed Atlantis' gate and by the sound of things, it wasn't someone they'd been expecting.

Rodney's eyes widened, full of disbelief. She wanted to ask what was going on. She wanted to know, but at best she'd get an impatient hand wave from Rodney and at worst she'd distract him from the task at hand.

Damn it all to hell, she thought angrily to herself. This was the last time she was leaving without her earpiece.

"Gate Room."

It took Jennifer a couple of seconds to register that Rodney was speaking to her now.

"What-"

"Now." Rodney spun on his heel and made a dash for the door at the other end of the pier.

Jennifer's gut tightened, confusion rapidly being replaced by fear. Rodney McKay never ran. Not unless his life was in danger or his team's. Never.

Later, she would think back and take it as a sign.

That call, on the night she'd finally found time for a little peace amid the chaos of uncertainty in the Pegasus Galaxy, had been just the start of the nightmare that was to come.

* * *

"There wasn't anything we could do, Dr. McKay. The Phoenix just couldn't take the onslaught."

"And Colonel Carter? You all beamed down to the planet. Where is she?"

"She stayed behind. She wanted to make sure everyone was off before she beamed herself down. I don't know where she is."

* * *

"Where the hell is that med team, Chuck? My men can't wait forever!"

"Med teams two and three are already off-world. They're not scheduled back for another three hours. Dr. Keller has a code blue in the infirmary. We don't have anyone to send. You have to get to the Gate, Major Lorne."

"I have 3 men with bullet wounds, another with a spinal injury, and I've got a broken leg. We can't get to the Gate."

* * *

"Give me 0.5 mg atropine. Clear"

"We have sinus rhythm. BP 90 over 50"

"0.01 mg of epi. We have to intubate."

"Doctor-"

"Get me a 5.5 tube."

"Dr. Keller. We don't have the power here necessary to keep him on a respirator."

"We'll do it manually. Sharon. The tube."

"Take a look around Jen. You don't have enough staff to take care of those that have a fighting chance, let alone the ones that are almost dead."

* * *

"Dr. McKay!"

"What?"

"I need that hyperdrive ten minutes ago, Dr. McKay."

"How about you let me get the Deadalus running with a minimum of interruptions and I'll let you concentrate on keeping us from exploding until I'm done. How's that?"

"I wouldn't need to keep us from exploding if that hyperdrive were online."

"Thank you. Because what I really needed right now was another reminder that we're all going to die!"

* * *

"Come in Dr. McKay."

"Yes. What is it?"

"We just received a transmission from off-world."

"And?"

"It's from Ronon's group, sir."

* * *

Jennifer stared blindly towards the western horizon. The sun had started its majestic rise just minutes ago, washing away the vestiges of night, shimmering over the vast expanse of ocean.

The planet's two moons were a faint glow in the sky, nearly obscured now by the wash of orange painted across the sky and the bright orb seemingly rising out of the ocean.

She shivered slightly as a gust of cold air blew across the pier, mussing her hair, encouraging her to put her jacket back on. She didn't. The cold was welcome. Cold was good. Anything to wash away, maybe even replace, the numbness she'd felt inside for so long now.

How long had it been, she asked herself. How long since the last time she'd been able to just sit and think and not have to rush to someone's bedside? Ground-side would often be more fitting, she thought bitterly.

The days, the weeks, and the months had all started to melt together lately. She couldn't keep track of one day ending and another beginning. She couldn't keep track of when last she'd ever had a night of sleep to separate the two.

Footsteps approached behind her. They stopped at her side. Her visitor lowered himself to the pier heavily, dangling his legs over the edge to join hers in the water.

She peered at him through the corner of her eye. She quickly scanned his rumpled appearance – hair that Sheppard would have been proud of, a jacket that hadn't seen a cleaning in more than a few days and had the coffee stains to prove it, and the exhausted and weary expression of a man not having seen a bed in just as long, if not longer.

Rodney quietly reached over and clasped her hand tightly.

Jennifer didn't blink, but she let a small smile grace her lips. It felt foreign to her, that upward curving of her mouth. It was something she hadn't had reason to do in a while. It felt good and she felt some of the numbness wash away.

She squeezed his hand in return and shifted her eyes back to gaze on the horizon. She watched, fascinated, as the bright glow of the sun crept over the water, inching its way toward them until its outlying edges tickled their toes with warmth.

She felt Rodney's solid, warm hand in hers, felt the cold of the water and the wind, and the warmth of the sun's glow. She closed her eyes and realized this was the most and best she'd felt for months.

And for the first time, in a long time, she felt hope.


End file.
